cillor.

A hoarse cry rang through the air; it came from Genevieve, and seemed
to be meant for the mysterious woman. She rose to her feet in a moment,
flinging back the hair from her face, and then the Colonel and d'Albon
could see her features distinctly. As soon as she saw the two friends
she bounded to the railings with the swiftness of a fawn.

"_Farewell_!" she said in low, musical tones, but they could not
discover the least trace of feeling, the least idea in the sweet sounds
that they had awaited impatiently.

M. d'Albon admired the long lashes, the thick, dark eyebrows, the
dazzling fairness of skin untinged by any trace of red. Only the
delicate blue veins contrasted with that uniform whiteness.

But when the Marquis turned to communicate his surprise at the sight of
so strange an apparition, he saw the Colonel stretched on the grass like
one dead. M. d'Albon fired his gun into the air, shouted for help, and
tried to raise his friend. At the sound of the shot, the strange lady,
who had stood motionless by the gate, fled away, crying out like a
wounded wild creature, circling round and round in the meadow, with
every sign of unspeakable terror.

M. d'Albon heard a carriage rolling along the road to l'Isle-Adam, and
waved his handkerchief to implore help. The carriage immediately came
towards the Minorite convent, and M. d'Albon recognized neighbors, M.
and Mme. de Grandville, who hastened to alight and put their carriage at
his disposal. Colonel de Sucy inhaled the salts which Mme. de Grandville
happened to have with her; he opened his eyes, looked towards the
mysterious figure that still fled wailing through the meadow, and a
faint cry of horror broke from him; he closed his eyes again, with
a dumb gesture of entreaty to his friends to take him away from this
scene. M. and Mme. de Grandville begged the Councillor to make use of
their carriage, adding very obligingly that they themselves would walk.

"Who can the lady be?" inquired the magistrate, looking towards the
strange figure.

"People think that she comes from Moulins," answered M. de Grandville.
"She is a Comtesse de Vandieres; she is said to be mad; but as she has
only been here for two months, I cannot vouch for the truth of all this
hearsay talk."

M. d'Albon thanked M. and Mme. de Grandville, and they set out for
Cassan.

"It is she!" cried Philip, coming to himself.

"She? who?" asked d'Albon.

"Stephanie.... Ah! dead and yet living s